Once Is All It Takes
by fiorifrost-legallover
Summary: Gilbert has a traumatic experience getting his shots for school that effects the rest of his life. Rated M because it's fun to rate things M. . . and it says fuuuuuuuuuuudge.


I saw the first needle go in his arm. "Does it hurt?" I asked my brother.

"Not really" he replies. The second goes in. "Ow!" he shouts "OK that one hurt!" The needles went in like his arm was made of mere jello. The third went in. His eyes were watering by now and I could feel my body temperature rising. He got his fourth shot and I scooted my chair towards the door, pretending to get away. Just jokes.

It was my turn. I felt the cold sanitary wipe on my skin. I felt the pinch of the entering needle, but nothing more. The nurse put the band-aid on and I was fine, for a bit. I felt a pressure on my head and my vision went fuzzy, not black, fuzzy.

"Mom" I said, "My head feels funny." I thought whatever was in that syringe was causing my reaction.

Darkness.

I woke up sitting on the floor with someone holding my head to their chest and the sound of an unfamiliar voice. "Are you OK, sweetie?" she said "Come on now, come on."

_"Mom? No this isn't my mom."_

My vision began to clear and I could see other people rush in. There was a man, a tan woman, and another woman with a lot of makeup, but she still looked nice. They were all saying things to comfort me.

I was sweaty. I was breathing heavily and trembling. My leg hurt like hell and my hands prickled with pins and needles. My left pinky and ring finger wouldn't close so I left them straight.

"Can I lay down?" I asked. They let me lay on the cool floor and regain my breath. My eyes filled with tears and I got that choked up feeling in my throat, though I wasn't sad at all. They brought in a wheel chair and helped me up. I saw my eyes were bloodshot and my skin was a sickly yellow in the mirror on the back of the door.

They rolled me down the hall to a bed. I lay down and they covered me with a sheet.

"You want some apple juice, Hun?" The nurse with makeup asked. I nodded and she hurried off. I could hear my mom and the man from earlier talking.

"It wasn't from the shot itself," he said "He freaked himself out."

"Are you sure?" I heard my mom ask.

"Yes." he replied "It was just a mild blackout-seizure incident nothing too serious. Have him eat something high in sugar when he gets home and put him to bed. The nice nurse gave me my apple juice and I tried to stand up, but felt nauseous, so I sat in the wheelchair. The nice nurse rolled me to the car and I went home with emotionless tears streaming down my cheeks, never to return again. It's been a while since this happened, but I still feel it's effects to this day.

* * *

><p>"Sorry for being gone on such short notice, class." My teacher said. "My mother had to get an operation on her brain aneurysm. She had it worked on before, but it came back again. Y'know medical technology has really progressed!"<p>

I could start to feel myself get uneasy, but I didn't tell her to stop her story. I didn't want to make a big deal out of it.

"In the first operation, the doctors had to actually cut out part of her skull to operate!"

I was feeling frantic but I tried to keep my cool. I remembered my mother telling me that I needed to get over my fear and that's what I was doing.

"But this time they had this little machine on the end of a wire and they cut just a small opening in her leg and navigated the machine through a major vein up to her brain!"

_What if this had to happen to me? No, no I would rather die._

My breaths were shallow.

"Then that small machine started sort of shooting at the-"

I saw my notebook on my desk coming at my face fast.

Darkness.

I woke up on the floor looking at what I assumed was my teacher's knees.

"Oh my God. Oh my God! Wake up!" I heard her saying, frantically. I could feel cold water running over my back and neck.

"Why didn't you tell me to stop? This is all my fault, I'm so stupid." I tried to lift myself off the ground, but my foot was caught in the metal basket under my desk.

My teacher brushed my bangs back off my forehead.

"Oh man, that's quite the bump. Do you feel sick at all? Alfred! Go get more water!" I heard the sandy blonde boy hurry out of the room. "Just lay down." My teacher told me as she pet my hair. "Oh, you have another bump back here too."

After a while Alfred came back with more water and an office attendant with a wheel chair.

_Fuck. Not that damn wheel chair again. It draws so much attention for such a trivial thing._

I lifted myself in the wheel chair anyways and was wheeled up to the office. The lady had me call my mom, who just told me to stay at school if I wasn't feeling nauseous. I went to my next class when the bell rang and continued my life like any other day.

* * *

><p>Now I'm more cautious about what people say near me in class. I have stepped out of the room on multiple occasions and when I return, some teachers question it and others barely notice.<p>

I have visited the hospital since then, but not by my own free will. Trypanophobia and white-coat hypertension can be hard to live with.

I had a difficult time seeing my newborn cousin because any time a nurse came near me my head would pound, my fingers would twitch, and I would get that feeling that I needed to _go_, immediately.

I can't watch BONES, CSI, or any of those other shows that I loved so much. I used to want to be a coroner. Now, I don't know if that will ever happen . . .


End file.
